These themes have dogged Farrar since his days as one of the chief singer-songwriters in Uncle Tupelo, a ragged, rootsy Midwestern band that released four albums be-fore splitting up in 1994. “It just sort of ran out of gas,” says Farrar. Minus Farrar, the rest of Uncle Tupelo formed Wilco, which released a well-received album, “A.M.,” earlier this year. But “Trace” is evidence that the soul of Uncle Tupelo rested with Farrar. His dark visions, sullen voice and obsession with things past come across like nostalgia for a world that probably never was, but even more certainly never will be. For him, looking back is a means of escape. “I’m interested in older musical equipment and older forms of music,” he says. “You can kind of remove yourself from now.”
Farrar must have had wanderlust as a teen, but his family never went anywhere. For most of his life he lived in Belleville, III., a conservative, nothing-to-do kind of town 25 minutes from St. Louis. His father worked on a dredge boat on the Mississippi, and accumulated cars in his spare time. “At times he had 13 cars in the backyard,” Farrar says. “It was a hobby. Or a way of life.” The only vacation the family ever took was to New Orleans, and when Uncle Tupelo broke up, that’s where Farrar headed. At the time of this interview, though, Farrar had completed yet another trek: he was back in Belleville, visiting his parents. He says he doesn’t really mind going home again, even though he spent most of his life trying to get away. It’s just one more stop on a road that goes nowhere and everywhere.
